Treasure..........a word that gets everyone attention!

An abandoned goldmine,

an age old antique pieces,

the priceless art forms,

the ancient lost city full of precious stones and metals, etc are what we imagine with the word treasure.

But,today let me show the first gift you are gifted with,

The first and best gift given by our creator while sending us to this world,

The gift that made the first cry of ours calm,

The lips that uplifted with our entry in this world,

The eyes that always moved with us to make sure we are safe,comfortable and happy,

The hands that worked to feed us,to lift us when we fall,

The legs that carried us all the time,

The blood that flows in our veins,

OUR PARENTS !!!

They are our special gift from God!

Ofcourse,this is the best gift we could ever choose !

Spending time with one's parents is a priceless treasure.

We frequently fail to recognize the importance of our parents, which is one of the sad realities of life. 

When they are young, 

this is something that is nearly a need; 

toddlers do not have the time to pause and say things like,

 "Thank you for paying the mortgage!" or "Great job on that diaper change!" 

In the event that they did,

 it might have the sensation of a scene from a horror movie rather than a moment that is lovable. 

However, despite the fact that we are getting older,

 we continue to develop the habit of taking our parents for granted. 

For those of us who are fortunate enough to have parents who are always there for us, 

they become the unseen pillars of our lives. 

They are dependable,

 not unlike the organs in our bodies or the engine in our automobiles,

 and they are frequently only noticed when something goes wrong. 

Nevertheless, our parents are not immune to difficulties.

 In spite of the fact that they may appear to be present at all times, there will definitely come a time when they are not. 

Moments that will mark the end of the connection with the individuals who brought you into this world and helped mold who you are will include a final hug, a final discussion, and a smile of farewell. 

These are the moments that represent the conclusion of the relationship. 

What we rarely take into account is how close we are to those moments that will be our last. 

The Truth Behind the Term "Parent Time."

It is highly likely that you have a limited number of "free days" to spend with your friends and family if you are either employed or enrolled in formal education.

 The majority of us juggle these valuable days so that we can attend social events while also fulfilling our commitments. 

It is possible that you will spend one weekend with friends from school, another weekend with pals from college, or you might go to the movies with a sibling. 

When it comes to your parents, you can run across them at religious celebrations such as Holi or Diwali, or at family get-togethers.

 In spite of this, the numbers can be quite frightening when they are broken down. 

For the sake of argument, let's pretend that your parents are in their mid-60s and that you visit them four times a year for things like birthdays or other special occasions.

There are just fifty to sixty more visits left, taking into consideration the average life expectancy of eighty years.

 It is possible that you will only have two months of time remaining with them, but this will depend on the length of time that each interaction lasts.

 In addition, the number may be considerably lower for those individuals whose parents are of an older nature. 

It's Possible That Every Moment Is the Last.

The realization that the amount of time we spend with our parents is as limited as it actually is might seem like a jolt of cold water.

 Even while we are all aware, on some level, that time is limited,

 it is easy to forget as a result of the everyday distractions that we face. 

Changing one's perspective by looking at it through the prism of "parent time" is a particularly devastating approach to do so.

 Understanding that every moment could be the last can help us approach these relationships with greater intention and respect. 

There is no right or wrong way to manage your time, but it is important to keep in mind that every moment could be the last. 

"Our lives, thanks to their finitude, are inevitably full of activities that we are doing for the very last time," says Oliver Burkeman in Four Thousand Weeks.

 "This is the case because our lives are ultimately limited." 

In the same way that there will be a final occasion on which I pick up my son,

 there will be a final time that you visit the house where you spent your youth,

 swim in the ocean,

 or have a profound chat with a particular close friend. 

When you are doing something for the very last time, 

however, there is typically no way to know that you are doing it for the very final time. 

It is for this reason that we ought to make an effort to regard each and every one of these experiences with the same level of reverence that we would display if it were the last time we encountered it. 

"Beyond the Role of 'Parents,' 

Getting to Know Them In light of this, 

what are some ways that we may maximize the time that we have left with our parents?

 Seeing them not only as "parents," 

but rather as persons who have their own particular histories,

 is one way to approach the situation.

 It is common for us to not fully realize the difficulties that our parents encountered and the sacrifices that they made until we reach the age that our parents were while they were raising us.

 It is simple for us to reject our parents as being out of touch when we are young, 

but as we get older,

 we can become more aware of the complexities of their lives. 

Ask them about their past,

their childhood,

their sweet memories and lessons learnt from life.

 Learn about the life that existed before you were born and the secrets that they have been keeping from you. 

Explore the stories that they have never told you.

 When you do this, 

you will open your eyes to a whole new level of complexity in the people you thought you knew. 

Answers to the Questions That You Will Want to Know— Earlier than it is too late.

 You will eventually reach a point in time where you will no longer be able to ask those questions about you. 

It is not possible for you to find a biography or a Wikipedia page on your parents to use as a reference.

 Now is the time to ask them the questions that you have always been fascinated about, 

as well as the questions that you may possibly wish you had known in the past. 

A few suggestions to get you started are as follows:

Which of your childhood experiences brought you the most joy? 

Who has been your closest buddy throughout your entire life?

 How did you feel when you first fell in love, and when did you first experience it? 

Which moment do you most deeply regret? 

 What aspects of parenting did you find most instructive for you? 

Before it is too late, you should not wait.

Now is the moment to begin asking questions,

listening to your children,

and showing appreciation for them if you only have two months of "parent time" remaining.

Let's Cherish your time with our world's best gift in our life!!!

By,

Shaina's batman......

Chapter 1 – The Bottle That Drifted

The internet was flooded with platforms where people showed their best selves—filters, crafted captions, lives that seemed too perfect to be true. But “Drift” was different.

On Drift, you didn’t post selfies or likes. Instead, you wrote thoughts—tiny whispers of your heart—tucked inside a virtual glass bottle and sent them floating into the endless digital sea. Someone, somewhere, could pick it up. They could read it. They could respond. Or let it drift away again.

That was how fate decided to play its trick.

Batman’s Bottle

“Sometimes I wonder if silence is louder than words.
Anyway, if you’re reading this, take care of yourself.
– Just a guy.”

Batman stared at the screen after pressing send. He wasn’t even sure why he wrote it. Maybe it was one of those nights—when the city noise felt too sharp, the office deadlines too heavy, and his own heart too quiet.

He wasn’t used to opening up. Thirty years of life had taught him that walls kept you safe. Be strong. Be distant. Don’t let anyone peek inside. Still… some part of him had slipped through in those few lines.

Shaina’s Discovery

In her dorm room, Shaina scrolled through the drifting sea of bottles. Most were silly—random jokes, confessions, memes disguised as thoughts. But then, her finger stopped.

She read the message twice. Simple. Honest. Lonely.

Her lips curved into a small smile.
“Just a guy?” she whispered. “Mysterious much.”

Without thinking too long, she tapped Reply.

Their First Exchange

Shaina:

“Silence is louder sometimes.
But sometimes, it’s just… empty.
Anyway, hi. I picked your bottle. :)”

Batman stared at the notification. A stranger replied. He hovered over the keyboard, fingers stiff.

Batman:

“Hi. Thanks for picking it. Hope it wasn’t too boring.”

Shaina tilted her head, reading his dry tone.
“Formal guy, huh?” she muttered, then typed back.

Shaina:

“Not boring at all. Actually, it’s rare to see someone write something real here. Most bottles are full of weird pickup lines.”

Batman smirked faintly.

Batman:

“Guess I’m not very creative with pickup lines.”

Shaina:

“That’s… actually good. It means you’re normal.
Or maybe boring normal.”

She added a teasing emoji.

Batman raised an eyebrow. A stranger… teasing him? His usual instinct would’ve been to ignore. But something about her tone felt playful, not mocking. For the first time in weeks, he typed faster than he thought.

Batman:

“Boring normal? Harsh first impression. Should I be offended?”

Shaina:

“Nah. You don’t seem easily offended.
You seem… guarded. Am I right?”

Batman froze. His heart kicked. She got it—just like that. He swallowed and typed carefully.

Batman:

“Maybe. People are complicated.”

Shaina:

“True.
But you know, sometimes complicated people are the most fun once they trust you.”

She didn’t know why she wrote that. Maybe because she saw a crack in his wall already, just from a single message.

Hours Later…

What started as a reply turned into a slow exchange of thoughts—about music, books, the ridiculousness of social media, and how both of them hated small talk but ended up doing it anyway.

Batman stayed formal, short sentences, no emojis.
Shaina answered with warmth, teasing, and plenty of curiosity.

By midnight, Shaina stretched on her bed, smiling at the glowing screen.

Shaina:

“Okay, mysterious boring-normal guy… I’m gonna sleep now. But if you vanish tomorrow, I’ll call this a one-bottle stand.”

Batman chuckled out loud—an unusual sound in his apartment.

Batman:

“Don’t worry. I’ll still be here.
Good night, bottle-picker.”

Shaina:

“Good night, wall-builder.”

That was the first spark. Neither of them knew it yet, but a tiny crack had opened in Batman’s fortress. And for Shaina, that night was the first in a long time she fell asleep with a silly smile on her lips.

Chapter 2 – The Wall and the Bubble

Batman didn’t expect himself to open the Drift app again the next morning. Normally, he hated chatting, hated small talk, hated wasting time with strangers. But… there was something about last night’s conversation.

He told himself it was just curiosity. Nothing else.

When he opened the app, a message was waiting.

Shaina’s Message

Shaina:

“Morning, Mr. Wall-builder.
Hope you didn’t run away with your bottle. ;)”

Batman exhaled, shaking his head. This girl… she had a way of making formality impossible. He typed back, leaning against his desk with coffee in hand.

Batman:

“Morning. Still here. Told you I don’t run.”

Shaina:

“Good. Running is for cowards.
Anyway, have you had breakfast?”

Batman:

“Coffee. That counts, right?”

Shaina:

“Nope. That’s not breakfast, that’s survival mode.”

Batman chuckled silently.

Batman:

“Maybe I like survival mode.”

Shaina:

“Or maybe you’re just lazy.
I bet you can’t even cook instant noodles properly.”

Batman raised his eyebrows at the audacity of this stranger. He typed fast.

Batman:

“I can cook. Better than most, actually.”

Shaina:

“Prove it. Send a pic.”

He froze. No. Pictures weren’t his thing. He avoided them like the plague. He erased the text, then replied carefully.

Batman:

“Not my style. Just take my word for it.”

Shaina:

“Hmm. Suspicious. Very suspicious.”

Narration

That was how their rhythm began. She teased; he resisted. She poked; he stayed composed. Yet every time she messaged, he replied. And every reply carried just a little more warmth than before.

Shaina, on the other hand, was discovering something unusual. She wasn’t the type to open up easily either. But with him—this mysterious, guarded man she only knew as Batman (his Drift username)—she felt strangely safe.

A Week Later – The First “Fight”

Shaina:

“You’re so dry sometimes, it feels like I’m texting a corporate email account.”

Batman:

“Maybe that’s my charm.”

Shaina:

“Charm? Excuse me, Mr. Wall-builder, but you wouldn’t know charm if it waved at you wearing neon lights.”

Batman:

“Rude. I’m a very charming guy.”

Shaina:

“Then show me. Be funny. Say something witty.”

Batman frowned at his phone. He wasn’t used to being put on the spot like this. But a small part of him wanted to play along.

Batman:

“Fine. Why did the introvert cross the road?”

Shaina:

“Why?”

Batman:

“To get away from everyone asking questions.”

There was silence for a moment. Then—

Shaina:

“…… That was terrible. -_-”

Batman:

“You asked for it.”

Shaina:

“I regret everything. I want a refund.”

Batman:

“Refund denied.”

And just like that, their first fight ended in laughter. Shaina, sprawled on her bed with her phone, whispered softly to herself:

“Ugh… why does this feel so comfortable?”

Frienemyship

One night, after hours of teasing and banter, Shaina typed a long message.

Shaina:

“Okay, I’ve been thinking. We’re not exactly friends. Friends are all nice and sweet. But we’re not enemies either, even though I annoy you on purpose.”

Batman:

“Correct. You annoy me a lot.”

Shaina:

“Shut up, listen. So I invented a word for us:
Frienemyship.
Half-friendship, half-enemy. A chaotic mix. That’s us.”

Batman stared at the word. Something inside him softened, unexpectedly. Frienemyship. Silly. Childish. But also… strangely perfect.

Batman:

“Frienemyship, huh? Fine. I’ll allow it.”

Shaina:

“Wow. So generous, sir.”

Batman:

“Careful, or I’ll revoke your membership.”

Shaina:

“You can’t. I trademarked the word.”

Batman laughed, really laughed this time. Alone in his apartment, with no one around, he let the sound escape. He hadn’t laughed like that in years.

And somewhere in that laughter, his wall cracked a little more.

Chapter 3 – Cracks in the Wall

It had been three weeks since Batman’s bottle drifted into Shaina’s hands.
Three weeks of late-night chats, ridiculous jokes, mock fights, and Shaina’s never-ending teasing.

But tonight felt different.

A Quiet Night

Batman sat in his apartment, city lights bleeding through the window. The world outside was chaos — deadlines, meetings, noise — but inside, everything was still. Too still.

He stared at his phone. Shaina hadn’t messaged all evening. Strange. She usually popped up with something random — “Do you think noodles feel sad when they’re boiled?” or “Tell me your top 3 songs or else frienemyship revoked.”

But today… nothing.

He finally typed.

Batman:

“Hey, Bubble. You alive?”

(Bubble — that was his new nickname for her. Because she was always bubbly, always floating around his walls trying to pop them.)

Five minutes later, a reply came.

Shaina:

“Alive. Just tired.”

Batman frowned. That wasn’t like her.

Batman:

“College stuff?”

Shaina:

“Mm-hmm. And life stuff.
… Do you ever feel like you’re just too small for this world?”

The First Real Crack

Batman stared at the message, his chest tightening. He knew that feeling all too well. But words never came easy to him. Still, he forced himself to type.

Batman:

“All the time.
But small doesn’t mean weak.”

Shaina:

“You make it sound easy.”

Batman:

“It’s not. Trust me. I’ve been carrying walls for years. But you… you’re stronger than you think.”

He paused, blinking at his own words. Why was he saying this? He barely knew her. And yet… he wanted her to believe it.

On the other end, Shaina smiled faintly, eyes misty. Nobody told her things like that.

Shaina:

“Thanks, Wall-builder. Didn’t expect you to be motivational speaker today.”

Batman:

“Don’t get used to it. My subscription expires after this message.”

Shaina:

“Haha. See, that’s why I keep talking to you. You’re impossible, but in a good way.”

Narration

That night, they talked less but felt more. No teasing, no dramatic banter. Just quiet comfort.

Shaina realized something about Batman:
Behind the sharp replies and guarded tone, he was soft. Gentle in ways he didn’t show the world.

And Batman realized something about Shaina:
Her innocence wasn’t naïve. It was brave. It took courage to stay bubbly in a world that kept trying to crush you.

The Call

A week later, it happened.

Shaina typed:

Shaina:

“Okay, listen. Texting is fun, but I want to hear if your voice matches your vibe. Dare you to call me.”

Batman’s hand froze over his phone. Call? He hated calls. They were too personal, too close. His world had always been typed words, not spoken ones.

Batman:

“No.”

Shaina:

“Scared? ;)”

Batman:

“Not scared. Just unnecessary.”

Shaina:

“Unnecessary my foot. C’mon, Mr. Corporate Email, live a little.”

Batman sighed, rubbing his forehead. His instincts screamed don’t. But the thought of hearing her voice… curious, warm, maybe even teasing… stirred something inside him.

Before he could stop himself, he hit the call button.

The First Voice

“Hello?” Shaina’s voice came through, soft but alive, carrying a smile with every syllable.

Batman’s throat went dry. “Hi.”

For a moment, neither said anything. Then Shaina giggled. “Wow. You actually sound… nice.”

“Just nice?” he said, trying to keep his tone flat, though a smile tugged at his lips.

“Yeah. Like a serious librarian who secretly watches cartoons at night.”

He laughed—an honest, unguarded laugh. “That’s… surprisingly accurate.”

And just like that, the awkwardness faded.

They talked for hours. About random things, about serious things, about everything in between. Their voices filled the spaces where words on a screen used to be.

By the time they hung up, the silence in both their rooms didn’t feel empty anymore.

It felt like… waiting.

Chapter 4 – Sparks and Storms

It started small.
Like most storms do.

The Forgotten Reply

Shaina was used to Batman’s dry replies, but she was also used to him always replying. Maybe not instantly, maybe not with flowery words, but he was there.

This time, he wasn’t.

She had sent him a funny meme about cats plotting world domination. One hour passed. Then two. Then six. Nothing.

By night, she tossed her phone on the bed, muttering, “What’s his problem? Mr. Wall-builder thinks he can ignore me?”

She told herself not to care. He was just a random guy on a random app. But her chest felt heavier than she expected.

Finally, late at night, his message came.

Batman:

“Sorry. Long day at work. Just saw this. The cat looks scarier than my boss.”

Shaina stared at the screen, frowning. That’s it? After leaving her waiting the whole day?

Shaina:

“Wow. Thanks for the enthusiastic essay-length reply.”

Batman:

“You sound upset.”

Shaina:

“Me? Noooo. Why would I be upset at someone who disappears for hours and then replies like I’m a spam email?”

Batman exhaled sharply. He wasn’t good at this. People and their emotions. He never knew the right words.

Batman:

“I told you. I was busy. I can’t always reply instantly.”

Shaina:

“Yeah, I get that. But there’s busy and there’s not caring. Sometimes it feels like you don’t care.”

The Explosion

That struck deeper than she realized. Because for Batman, not caring was the one thing he feared being accused of.

Batman:

“If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t even be here.”

Shaina:

“Then show it! You always hide behind short answers and excuses. Do you even trust me, or am I just another stranger with your walls up?”

Batman’s fingers tightened on his phone.
Trust. The one thing he never gave away easily.

Batman:

“Maybe you don’t understand that trust isn’t something I throw around like confetti. Not everyone deserves it.”

Shaina’s heart sank. “So I don’t deserve it?” she whispered aloud, then typed furiously.

Shaina:

“Fine. Keep your walls. Maybe I was stupid to think you’d let someone in.”

She slammed her phone down, tears stinging her eyes.

Silence

For two days, they didn’t talk.
No memes, no teasing, no “frienemyship” banter. Just silence.

Shaina buried herself in college assignments, but her phone felt heavier than ever.
Batman threw himself into work, telling himself it didn’t matter—she was just a random girl.

But every night, he stared at the empty screen.
And every night, she scrolled past Drift, refusing to open it.

The First Apology

On the third night, Batman finally broke.

He typed slowly, carefully, every word dragging pieces of his pride with it.

Batman:

“Hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you away. I… I just don’t know how to do this sometimes. People. Feelings. Opening up. It’s not easy for me.”

Shaina’s chest tightened as she read. She bit her lip, blinking fast.

Shaina:

“I know. I just… wanted to feel like I mattered to you. Even a little.”

Batman’s heart clenched. The words hit deeper than any fight could.

Batman:

“You do. More than I expected. That’s what scares me.”

Her eyes widened at that. She reread the line, over and over. This guarded man, this wall-builder, was scared because she mattered.

Slowly, a smile broke through her tears.

Shaina:

“You’re such an idiot. But… you’re my idiot now. Okay?”

Batman chuckled, the tension in his chest loosening for the first time in days.

Batman:

“Frienemyship contract renewed, then?”

Shaina:

“Renewed. With late fees.”

Batman:

“Figures.”

Narration

That night, as they talked until sleep blurred their words, something shifted quietly between them.

The fight hadn’t broken them.
It had stitched them closer.

Shaina realized that behind Batman’s silence was fear, not indifference.
And Batman realized that Shaina wasn’t just a “bubble”—she was an anchor. A reminder that someone, somewhere, wanted him to care.

Chapter 5 – The Unspoken Things

Weeks passed.
What started as a bottle in the sea had now become a daily rhythm—messages, late-night calls, laughter that echoed into silence, and small fights that ended with even smaller apologies.

Neither of them said it aloud, but both knew: this wasn’t just a random app connection anymore.

The Jealous Spark

One evening, Shaina was on call with Batman, curled up on her dorm bed, doodling in her notebook as his low, calm voice filled her ear.

“—so then my colleague actually thought pressing the restart button would fix the whole server issue. Can you believe it?”

Shaina laughed. “Classic. That’s like me thinking coffee can fix my GPA.”

But before Batman could respond, a loud male voice called out in the background on Shaina’s side.

“Shaina! We’re going for ice cream, you coming?”

Batman froze.
Another voice. A guy’s voice.

Shaina covered the mic. “One sec—” she told her friend, then turned back to the call. “Sorry, that was Raghav. Classmate. He’s… kind of annoying.”

Batman’s jaw clenched. His voice came out colder than he intended.
“Annoying, huh? Seemed pretty comfortable calling you out like that.”

Shaina blinked. “… Is that jealousy I detect?”

“No,” Batman said too quickly. “Just an observation.”

Shaina smirked, biting back a laugh. “Mhm. Sure. Totally not jealous.”

“I’m not,” Batman insisted, though his voice softened. “Why would I be?”

“Because,” she teased, “you like having me all to yourself.”

Batman fell silent. Too silent.

Shaina’s smile faltered. “Hey… I was joking. Don’t go all mysterious silent-mode on me.”

After a long pause, his voice finally came, low and steady.
“Maybe you’re not wrong.”

Her breath caught.

Narration

Shaina lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her heart hammering.
He didn’t joke. He didn’t tease. He meant it.

And Batman, sitting alone in his apartment, ran a hand through his hair. Why did he say that? Why did the thought of her with someone else twist in his chest like a knife?

The Bubble Bursts

Later that night, their texts continued.

Shaina:

“You scared me today. You’re usually sarcastic, but then you went all serious.”

Batman:

“I wasn’t trying to scare you. I just… don’t like the idea of you with someone else.”

Shaina:

“… You know you sound like a jealous boyfriend, right?”

Batman:

“Maybe. But I’m not your boyfriend.”

Her fingers hovered on the keyboard. A small ache formed in her chest at those words.

Shaina:

“Right. Frienemyship, remember?”

Batman:

“… Yeah. Frienemyship.”

But neither of them believed it anymore.

The First Almost-Confession

A few days later, Batman sent her a bottle. She didn’t expect it—he rarely wrote the public messages anymore.

“To the one who picked my first bottle:
Sometimes, I wonder how a stranger became the person I can’t go a day without talking to.
– Just a guy.”

When Shaina read it, her eyes stung. She typed and erased replies a dozen times before settling on one.

Shaina:

“Sometimes strangers feel more like home than people you’ve known forever. You’re that for me. – Just a girl.”

Batman read it in silence, his lips curving into the smallest, most vulnerable smile.

Narration

They still called it frienemyship.
They still teased, annoyed, fought, and made up.

But under it all, something stronger pulsed quietly.
Something neither dared to name yet.

It wasn’t just friendship.
It wasn’t just banter.

It was the beginning of love.

Chapter 6 – The Midnight Truth

It was past midnight.
The city was asleep, the hostel hallways were quiet, and Batman’s apartment lights glowed dim.

Both of them were on call again. It had become their secret ritual: late nights, hushed voices, like the world outside didn’t exist.

The Bad Day

Batman’s voice was unusually heavy that night.

“Rough day?” Shaina asked softly.

“…Yeah,” he admitted. “Work’s been… hell. Deadlines. People pushing me around. You know the drill.”

“Mm.” She drew tiny circles on her bedsheet with her finger. “And you let them push you?”

His silence stretched. Then: “It’s easier that way. Less conflict. Less drama.”

“Or maybe,” she said gently, “you’re just too used to carrying everything alone.”

That struck deeper than he wanted to admit. “I told you, I’m not great at… sharing things.”

“Then practice with me,” Shaina said, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m not asking for your secrets. Just… don’t shut me out.”

Batman’s throat tightened. He closed his eyes, leaning against the wall. “You don’t realize what you’re asking, Bubble. If I let you in, you’ll see the mess I hide.”

Shaina smiled faintly, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t care about the mess. I just want to see you.”

The Silence That Spoke

The line went quiet. For a moment, Shaina thought he had hung up.

Then came his voice, lower than she’d ever heard it.

“Shaina… I don’t know what this is between us. But I know one thing—I don’t want to lose it.”

Her heart skipped. “Then don’t.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” she said quickly, before fear could take her courage away. “We fight, we annoy each other, we act like idiots. But at the end of the day, I’m still here. You’re still here. Doesn’t that… mean something?”

He let out a shaky laugh. “It means too much.”

The Almost-Confession

There was a long pause. Then, softly—

“Shaina?”

“Mm?”

“…If things were different… I’d say…” He trailed off, words caught between his teeth.

“You’d say what?” she pressed, heart thundering.

“…I’d say I like you. More than I should.”

The world seemed to freeze. Shaina’s breath caught, her hand flying to her lips.

“Batman…” she whispered.

But before she could say more, his voice came back, firm but trembling.

“Forget I said that. It’s late. You should sleep.”

Her chest ached. She wanted to scream at him, to demand why he always pulled back at the edge of honesty. But instead, she smiled through the sting in her eyes.

“Good night, Wall-builder,” she said softly.

“Good night, Bubble,” he replied.

Narration

They ended the call, but neither slept.

Batman lay awake, fists clenched, hating his own fear.
Shaina lay awake, tears slipping down her cheeks, wondering why the right words never came at the right time.

For now, love stayed unspoken.
But it was there. Heavy. Real. Inevitable.

Chapter 7 – When the Sea Goes Silent

It happened suddenly.

One week, they were inseparable — late-night calls, teasing messages, laughter spilling past midnight.

The next week… Batman disappeared.

The Vanishing

Shaina noticed it first in the little things.
His replies got slower. His jokes vanished. He skipped their nightly calls, saying he was “too tired.”

And then, one day, nothing. No good morning. No good night. No bottle in the sea.

She stared at her phone, refreshing the app over and over, whispering, “Where are you, Wall-builder?”

But the sea was empty.

Batman’s Silence

Batman wasn’t gone because he wanted to be.
Work had crushed him under deadlines, a massive project spiraling out of control. His days bled into nights, his nights into exhaustion.

But deeper than that—he was scared.

Scared of how much Shaina’s voice had started to matter.
Scared that if he let himself drown in her, he’d lose control of everything else.

So he did what he always did best: he built his wall higher.

If I pull away now, he thought, she won’t get hurt later.

But he didn’t realize… he was already hurting her.

Shaina Breaks

After five days of silence, Shaina cracked.

She sent one last message.

Shaina:

“You know what hurts more than fights? Silence.
You’re the one who told me not to give up on this frienemyship.
So why are you giving up now?”

Her hands trembled as she hit send. For hours, she stared at the screen. No reply came.

By midnight, tears streaked her face. She whispered into the darkness, “I was stupid to think I mattered.”

The Bottle in the Sea

Two nights later, Shaina couldn’t hold it in. She opened Drift, wrote her thoughts into a bottle, and let it float away.

“To whoever finds this:
Don’t make people believe they’re important if you’re just going to disappear.
Some of us break too easily.
– Just a girl.”

She sent it, her heart breaking with every word.

The Return

On the other side of the city, Batman finally opened Drift after days of silence. Guilt pressed heavy on his chest as he scrolled through the sea of bottles.

And then he saw it.
Her words.

His breath caught. His heart pounded.

She wrote this.
She wrote this because of me.

He didn’t hesitate. He hit reply.

Batman:

“I’m sorry. I didn’t disappear because you don’t matter.
I disappeared because you matter too much.
– Just a guy.”

Narration

When Shaina read the reply, her hands shook. Tears blurred her vision, but this time they weren’t just from sadness.

Her lips trembled into a smile.
“Idiot,” she whispered. “My idiot.”

Chapter 8 – The Night of Truth

Shaina didn’t reply to his bottle right away.
She wanted to. God, she wanted to. But part of her was still angry, still bruised.

Her phone buzzed again. A direct message this time.

The Message

Batman:

“Shaina. Please talk to me. I owe you an explanation.”

She bit her lip, staring at the words. Finally, she typed back.

Shaina:

“One explanation won’t fix the way you made me feel. Do you even realize how much it hurt?”

A pause. Then his reply came, faster than she expected.

Batman:

“I know. And I hate myself for it. But I wasn’t running from you. I was running from me.”

The Call

She hesitated. Then, with trembling fingers, she pressed call.

When his voice came through, it was raw. “Bubble…”

Shaina exhaled shakily. “Don’t ‘Bubble’ me right now. Do you know how many nights I stayed awake, waiting for your stupid texts?”

Batman closed his eyes. “I know. And I’m sorry. I thought… if I pulled back, maybe you’d be better off without me.”

Shaina’s voice cracked. “Better off? Who decides that—me or you? You don’t get to vanish and make that choice for me!”

His silence was heavy, weighted with guilt.

“Batman…” she whispered, softer now. “You told me I mattered. Did you mean it?”

His reply came like a confession dragged from his very soul.
“You matter more than I know how to handle.”

Breaking the Wall

Shaina’s tears spilled. “Then let me in. Stop shutting me out. I don’t care if you’re messy, or scared, or broken. I just… I want you. Do you get that?”

For the first time in years, Batman’s voice trembled.
“I’ve been strong for everyone. For so long. And it’s exhausting. But with you… I feel like I don’t have to pretend.”

Shaina smiled through her tears. “Good. Because I don’t want the strong, untouchable Batman. I want the soft, ridiculous one who laughs at my dumb jokes and calls me Bubble.”

A shaky laugh escaped him. “You really do have terrible jokes.”

“And you secretly love them,” she shot back.

He let out a deep breath, as though setting down a burden he’d carried forever. “Maybe I do.”

Narration

They talked for hours that night. Not in banter, not in surface-level chatter, but in raw honesty.

Batman spoke about his walls, his fear of losing control, the loneliness he carried even in crowded rooms.
Shaina spoke about her insecurities, her fear of not being enough, how she always felt like she lived in shadows.

And somewhere between those confessions, they found light.

When they finally ended the call, neither said “good night.”
Because they knew this wasn’t an ending.

It was the beginning of something real.

Chapter 9 – When Screens Aren’t Enough

It had been months now.
Their days were threaded together with messages, their nights stitched with laughter and confessions.

But no matter how close their voices felt, no matter how deep their words cut — there was still a glass wall between them. A glowing screen.

The Restless Thought

One evening, Shaina sat in her hostel balcony, listening to the night crickets. Her phone buzzed.

Batman:

“Rough day. Wish I could just… talk to you face-to-face instead of through pixels.”

Her heart skipped. She reread the line three times.

Shaina:

“Face-to-face? That’s a big step, Mr. Wall-builder.”

Batman:

“I know. But I’m tired of walls. And screens.”

Shaina bit her lip. The thought of meeting him both thrilled and terrified her.
What if reality ruined the magic? What if he saw her and realized she wasn’t as “bubbly” as he imagined?

Shaina:

“What if… we don’t like what we see?”

There was a long pause. Then—

Batman:

“I already know I like what I see. And it has nothing to do with your face.”

Her cheeks flushed, heat blooming across her skin.

Shaina:

“Smooth. Since when did you become this romantic?”

Batman:

“Since a certain Bubble refused to leave my walls alone.”

The Decision

Their banter fell quiet, replaced by a nervous tension neither could brush off.

Batman:

“So… should we do it? Meet?”

Her breath caught. “Meet.” Just one word, but it carried a thousand possibilities.

Shaina stared at the blinking cursor, her hands trembling. Finally, she typed—

Shaina:

“Yes. Let’s meet.”

Narration

After pressing send, she pressed her palms against her cheeks, squealing silently into the night air.
Meanwhile, Batman leaned back against his chair, exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding for months.

The wall-builder and the bubble girl were finally stepping into the real world.

Chapter 10 – The First and Forever

The café was quieter than Shaina expected. Warm light spilled across polished tables, the faint aroma of coffee mixing with the evening air. She sat nervously at a corner table, fingers tangled in her scarf.

Every sound of the door made her heart jolt.
Every second that passed made her wonder—What if this ruins everything?

And then… he walked in.

The First Glance

Batman.

Not in a mask, not hidden behind walls or screens. Just him—tall, steady, carrying that guarded expression she knew so well. His eyes scanned the café until they landed on her.

And in that instant, the world quieted.

Shaina rose, her knees trembling, her smile shy but glowing. “Hi.”

He stopped in front of her, staring for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if trying to memorize her. His lips curved—just slightly.

“Hi, Bubble.”

The Meeting

They sat. At first, it was awkward—hands fidgeting, words stumbling. But soon, laughter returned, easing the air.

They talked for hours, just like on the phone. Stories spilled, jokes landed, silences stretched comfortably.

Every now and then, Batman would look at her with that soft, rare smile—the kind he never showed the world. And every time, Shaina’s heart thudded harder.

The Night’s End

Outside, the night was cool when they finally stepped out together. The city hummed softly in the background, but neither of them paid attention.

They walked slowly, side by side. Their arms brushed once, then twice. Finally, Shaina’s hand slipped into his.

Batman froze, then tightened his grip gently, as if afraid she might vanish.

At her hostel gate, they stopped. The night stretched between them, heavy with words unspoken.

“Today was…” Shaina started, her voice catching. “Perfect.”

Batman nodded. “Yeah. It was.” His voice was low, steady, but his eyes—his eyes were unguarded, full of things he couldn’t yet say.

Shaina smiled softly. “You know, Wall-builder… I think this isn’t just frienemyship anymore.”

Before he could reply, she rose on her toes, leaned in, and pressed her lips against his cheek. A gentle, lingering kiss.

Batman’s eyes widened, his breath catching—but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out the smallest laugh, shaky and boyish. “Bubble… you’re going to ruin me.”

She grinned, whispering, “Good. Someone has to.”

Narration

As she stepped inside, she glanced back.
He was still there, watching her with that rare smile—the smile of a man who had finally let someone inside his fortress.

And though neither said the word love, both knew—
this was no longer a drift in the sea.

This was a permanent anchor.
A forever friendship.
A beginning that would never end.

✨ End of Story ✨

               🧵🟧🟧🟧🟧🟧🟧🟧

               🧵🟧🟧🟧🟧🟧🟧🟧

               🧵⬜⬜⬜️🌀⬜⬜⬜️

               🧵⬜️⬜️⬜️🌀⬜️⬜️⬜️

               🧵🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩

               🧵🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩               

               🧵 🌼 🍃 🍁

               🧵             🌺

               🧵     🌱     🌸

               🧵 💐 🌹

               🧵      🍃       🍀 💐

               🧵 💐

               🧵   🍁       🌺 🌸

               🧵 🌼

               🧵🍂       🍃 🍁

               🧵      🌸            🌺

               🧵 🌼

               🧵     🌹          🍁 🍃

          🟠🟠🟠

     ⚪⚪🔵⚪⚪ 🫡🫡🫡

🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢

Happy 79th Independence day  🇮🇳

In a crowd of faces, a heart feels bare, A cyclone's eye, a lonely despair.

 Family near, friends by my side they stand, Yet an injured bird, lost in this desolate land.

Suffocation's grip, a darkness profound, Hollow echoes where solace can't be found. 

Empty chambers where feelings reside, A vacant heart, nowhere left to confide.

Dark circles gather, a sleepless night's toll, Tears on my pillow, taking their hold.

 The weight of sorrow, a heavy, crushing chain, A wounded spirit, succumbing to pain.

The world moves on, a vibrant hue, But in my heart, a somber blue.

 Each passing day, a heavy toll, A lonely journey, taking its hold.

Like a frog sitting alone, feeling undone, Except it's not just a meme, it's my life, Stuck in this sadness, this endless strife.

But even within this tempest's furious heart, A tiny ember of hope plays its own part. 

A fragile flame, flickering in the night, Whispering promises of a brighter light.

Though shadows lengthen, and darkness may loom, I'll find the strength to push back the gloom. 

For even in the eye of the cyclone's might, There's a resilience that burns ever so bright.

So let the tears fall, let the feelings flow, In the eye of the storm, a new seed will grow.

 And though the cyclone's fury may rage and roar, The dawn will break, a new day will soar.

Through the tempest's heart, a journey I'll take, With each step forward, my spirit will wake. 

For even in darkness, light starts to gleam, A beacon of hope, a life's vibrant dream.

By,

Shaina...

In a small, forgotten corner of the world, lived a young girl named Anya.

 Anya wasn't like the other children. 

While they dreamt of becoming princesses or astronauts, Anya dreamt of music. 

But Anya didn't have a musical instrument.

 She had no teacher,

 no formal training, and 

no family support.

 Her family struggled to put food on the table;

 music lessons were a luxury they couldn't afford.

Yet, Anya's heart beat to a different rhythm. 

She found solace in the sounds of nature – the chirping of crickets, the rustling of leaves, the gentle patter of rain. 

She'd hum along, creating melodies in her head, melodies that echoed her dreams and her determination.

 She started collecting unusual objects – pebbles, seashells, bits of wood – transforming them into makeshift instruments.

 A hollowed-out coconut became her drum, twigs became her flutes, and pebbles her castanets.

Anya practiced relentlessly, often in secret, her makeshift orchestra accompanying her in the quiet hours of dawn. 

She faced mockery and discouragement,

 but her passion was a flame that couldn't be extinguished. 

She practiced with fierce determination,

 her small hands growing calloused, 

her voice growing stronger. 

Her makeshift instruments were crude, 

but her music was filled with a raw,

 unbridled passion that touched the souls of those who heard it.

One day, a renowned musician, traveling through Anya's village, stumbled upon her playing. 

He was captivated by the purity of her music, its resilience, its unyielding spirit. 

He was moved by the passion of a young girl who had overcome adversity to create something beautiful from nothing. 

He recognized the extraordinary talent hidden within Anya's simple melodies.

The musician offered Anya a scholarship to a prestigious music academy. 

It was a life-changing opportunity,

 a chance to hone her talent,

 to learn from masters, 

and to share her unique gift with the world.

 Anya's journey wasn't easy, 

but her determination, 

fueled by her love for music and 

her unwavering belief in herself,

 carried her through every challenge.

Anya’s story is a testament to the power of perseverance. 

It reminds us that our dreams are worth fighting for, 

that obstacles are merely stepping stones to success, and

 that even with limited resources, 

we can create our own symphony, 

our own unique masterpiece, 

if we dare to dream and have the courage to pursue our passions. 

Anya's unlikely symphony, 

born from adversity,

 resonated not only with the renowed musician but with everyone who had the privilege to hear her music,

 a reminder that even the smallest voice can create the most beautiful music,

 given the time and the perseverance.

By,

Shaina...

 I romanticize flowers.

Their trembling petals,

their stubborn, 

clumsy kind of serenity,

their accidental serendipity,

the way I once romanticized love,

when I still believed love could outgrow the damage.

I don’t write much these days.

I feel everything, all at once,

like waves kissing the shore soft, 

then devastating.

It’s the same with words

they rise up in me when I'm awake till morning

and sometimes when I'm walking with my headphones on,

press against my throat gentle yet brutal and then vanish as if it never rained.

Last evening, I wandered into this little crumbling shop

the kind that smells like old wood, dust, and older regrets.

I bought myself some vases.

though, not really vases

Just empty wine bottles,

bruised and beautiful,

the way lost things sometimes are.

Each one could maybe hold three, four flowers, not more than that, if given all in one they could suffocate,

if you pour enough warmth into them,

if you pretend they were made to carry something delicate,

something reckless enough to bloom.

They’re sitting on my bookshelf now, 

Where my favorite poetry books used to be,

I traded my little happiness last night,

they are a little crooked, 

a little tired yet glow gently.

Maybe that’s what we were.

A collection of cracked vessels,

barely enough to bloom,

barely enough to break,

barely enough to stay.

Still, somehow enough to survive.

I don’t know why I’m writing all this.

Maybe because it’s raining tonight,

and everything softens in the rain,

 so will my pain!?

Maybe because some part of me still thinks I’d understand love is not expectations.

Maybe because some flowers still bloom in broken bottles,

Maybe because some hands still remember how to hold.

Maybe because

I miss how love feels in hand,

quietly,

Always,

quietly.

By,

Shaina...

 Tired, 

suffocated,

 frustrated,

Wondering if this is it.

I can't keep living this life

I guess it's time to quit.

My feet are bleeding from all the walks,

My eyes are about to shut.

I cannot run anymore

I guess I'll quit, But...

But what about that poem

I still have to write?

And the unfinished apology

To my friend after our fight?

That nearby cafe 

I still planned to go,

And what about the ending of

my favourite show?

The dream of checking

The needy ones for free,

And buying my parents gifts,

With my first salary.

Will my mother cry,

Or will she be mad?

Will they miss me,

Or just say I embarrassed Dad?

If I'm gone,

Will my friends even know?

Will they shed a tear,

Or say I did it for show?

Who will tell my brothers

All the right from wrong,

That I'm proud of them,

And that they’ve always been strong?

All the trophies I have won,

Will they throw them away?

After I'm gone,

Will they still mark my birthday?

Will they be disappointed

In the way I wrote this letter?

But once I’m gone...

Will any of it matter?

I remember someone telling me,

"This is not it."

So no, I won't die soon,

But I might, bit by bit.

But,I will be alive,

To change my own fate,

To fight my own battles like a true warrior

I knew this phase of darkness will soon end,bringing me immense joy,an everlasting happiness....

A wrong decision is easy to make,just like the first mistake,we all made as a kid by wearing the left sandal to right leg...

my dear friend,

You are never alone in ur distress,your pain,your suffering....

You are enough fix yourself to make you raise like a phoenix,to build that broken heart stronger than before,to stand for yourself,....

All you need is love what you truly are and be the way you want others to treat you

The way you deserve full of love,care,and respect 

You are worthy !!

You are always your own hero!

You can always share your thoughts with me my friends!

By,

Shaina...

In the heart of a quiet South Indian neighborhood, a family’s peaceful life was full of blooming roses since their daughter was born,a daughter born after 4 generations in their family.

Kusum and her Husband Neel happiness got no bounds as, the pregnancy journey was full of thorns but finally their bundle of joy Kuhu was born making them forget everything with her innocent toothless smiles.

Kuhu was like a light of hope in their lives full of darkness,the darkness filled with taunts of this society.

when they lost all hopes of being parents,due to Kusum health issues which often depressed her being called barren, even after 11yrs of being  married to her childhood love Neel.

 Due to the job restraints,the new parents were unwillingly moved to a new place to start a new beginning with their bundle of joy.

Moving to a newplace was not that bad to kusum as she got busy with cleaning,organising their new home while enjoying every bliss of her motherhood with her infant daughter kuhu,who started crawling and bringing joy to their lives with her cute antics.

Neighbourhood was filled with busy yet loving people.

Neel with his friendly,Extrovert nature made friends easily in the neighbourhood,making it easy for his Wife Kusum to survive in new place.

One fine day,Kusum asked her Husband Neel to join her and kuhu,with the old couple from their neighbourhood, to the church near by as its an auspicipous day.

Neel was an atheist,but still relentlessly agreed to make his dear wife happy.

The sun was relentless, beating down on Kusum, her husband Neel, and their ten-month-old daughter, Kuhu.

 Their trusted ride—an old car belonging to a kind elderly couple from their neighborhood—had broken down on a lonely street. 

The heat was unbearable, and the baby’s cries grew louder.

Nearby stood a sprawling mansion—imposing, silent, and mysterious.

 With no other choice, the small family, along with the elderly couple, decided to seek help.

As they reached the mansion’s heavy doors, a middle-aged man greeted them with a tight smile. 

His wife lingered behind, her cold eyes piercing and unwelcoming.

“Please, come in,” the man said, stepping aside.

Inside, the mansion was grand but oddly quiet.

 Kusum clutched Kuhu tightly, feeling the baby’s crankiness spike. 

When the man’s wife demanded to hold Kuhu, Kusum refused, sensing something dark beneath her polite facade.

But,Kusum didnt know her motherly Instincts were right.

But the Lady's husband intervened ,asking if they need anything to drink or eat,while watching Kuhu all the time.

Before,they refused he clapped thrice and few women clad in red sarees emerged from shadows of mansion.

They Immediately brought few refreshments and stood behind the lady of the mansion with their faces emotionless,eyes looking hollow but following every moment of the guests of the mansion.

Their dark red sarees,maroon bangles and everything in the mansion made kusum feel uneasy,making her grip her crying baby hard to her chest,while moving close to her husbamd Neel.

The elderly couple noticed it and decided its better to leave,as the its getting close to sun set.

Suddenly, tension shattered the fragile calm.

The man’s smile twisted into rage. 

When the elderly couple suggested they leave, his temper exploded.

 He attacked them savagely.

 Kusum watched in horror as the elderly woman was dragged into a locked room.

The wife’s psychotic side emerged. “Kuhu is mine now,” she hissed, eyes wild.

Neel tried to shield their daughter, but the kidnappers’ strength was overwhelming. 

Panic surged through Kusum, but she refused to surrender and stepped back holding kuhu close to her.

As the captors argued over custody of Kuhu.

 Kusum’s gaze fell on a small, almost hidden door behind a heavy curtain.

Her heart raced. 

Could this be their way out?

Waiting for the captors to get distracted, Kusum gently soothed Kuhu,making her sleep in safety of her mother's warmth.

 Then, with a sudden burst of courage, she whispered to Neel and the elderly man, “Follow me, quietly.”

Step by cautious step, they edged toward the backdoor.

 The mansion’s dark corridors seemed endless, shadows dancing in the flickering candlelight.

 Each creak of the floorboards made Kusum’s breath catch.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed behind them. 

The psychotic wife’s voice rang out, sharp and furious. “Stop them!”

The chase was on.

Dodging through narrow hallways and climbing a hidden staircase, Kusum’s mind raced. 

She remembered the psychotic couple mentioning a secret garden behind the mansion,while arguing before.

kusum thought If they could reach it, freedom awaited.

Bursting through a side door, they tumbled into the garden—a tangled maze of overgrown hedges and thorny vines. 

The night air was cool against their flushed faces.

But safety was not guaranteed.

From the shadows emerged the group Kusum had seen earlier—women in striking red sarees, their faces twisted in cruel delight. 

They blocked the garden’s exit, their laughter cold and menacing.

Cornered, Kusum hugged Kuhu tightly. 

But then, a sudden sound—a whistle—pierced the night.

 From behind a thick bush,Neel pulled out a small flare.

 He lit it, throwing a burst of bright red light into the faces of their pursuers.

Blinded and startled, the group hesitated just long enough for Kusum to sprint past them, Neel and the elderly man close behind.

They ran through the winding streets, hearts pounding, until the distant wail of sirens announced help was near.

Safe, but forever changed, Kusum looked back one last time.

 The mansion stood dark and silent, its secrets hidden beneath the night.

But Kusum knew this was only the beginning.

The police arrived swiftly, alerted by the flare and the frantic calls Neel managed to make during their escape. 

Kusum clung to Kuhu, her tiny daughter’s soft breaths grounding her amid the chaos. 

The elderlyman was shaken but alive, his  gratitude mixed with worry for his wife.

Inspector Arjun, a calm yet sharp-eyed man, took charge.

 “You’re safe now,” he assured them.

“We’ll investigate this matter and bring whoever did this to justice.”

But Kusum’s instincts told her otherwise. 

The red-clad women, the psychotic wife in green silk, the eerie laughter—they were not just locals or random criminals. 

There was something deeper, darker at play.

Back at their home, Kusum found no comfort.

 Every creak of the door, every shadow flickering in the corner of her eye, reminded her of that night.

 Sleep was elusive, and the nightmares relentless.

A week passed.

One evening, as Kusum rocked Kuhu to sleep, her phone buzzed. 

An unknown number. 

Heart pounding, she answered.

A distorted voice whispered, “You can run, Kusum, but you can’t hide. The shadows are watching.”

The line went dead.

Determined not to be a victim, Kusum began her own investigation. 

She revisited the church they attended, hoping the elderly priest could reveal more about the mansion and its owners.

The old priest hesitated but finally shared a chilling story after Kusum's relentless efforts to save that old lady.

The mansion had belonged to a powerful family rumored to practice dark rituals, their influence hidden beneath layers of respectability.

“They say the women in red sarees are part of a secret society,” the elderly priest whispered.

 “They believe in controlling fate through sacrifice and fear.”

Kusum’s blood ran cold.

Armed with this knowledge, Kusum collaborated with Inspector Arjun.

 They planned a sting operation to expose the cult and rescue the old lady any other victims.

On the night of the operation, Kusum returned to the mansion—this time not as a victim, but as a hunter.

 Hidden cameras and backup police officers surrounded the estate.

Inside, the red-saree women began their sinister gathering. 

Kusum’s heart pounded as the same psychotic woman in green silk,made her grand entrance, eyes locking briefly with Kusum’s—a silent promise of reckoning.

With a smirk on her lips,the lady directly refused to release the elderly lady until and unless Kusum gives her daughter kuhu to her.

Kusum blood ran cold.

The thought of her daughter taken away from her made her stand like a statue ,shaken with worry.

The lady signalled her army of red women to bring the elderly lady,to make kusum frighten even more.

Watching all this from the camera fixed to the butyons of kusum dress,made Neel's blood boiled.

His hold on kuhu got tightened,making the littleone stop from chewing his tshirt.

Inspector Arjun thought this is the best time as the lady and her red silk clad women are distracted,he signalled his team to start the operation the planned ahead.

Suddenly, alarms blared.

Everyone in mansion was stopped in their tracks,noticing the change in environment.

The police stormed in.

 Chaos erupted. 

The master of the mansion,who is busy in a room chanting mantras stopped abrutly and came out with rage,as his precious and sacred pooja got disturbed.

Kusum pushed through the crowd, her focus on the locked room where the elderly woman had been held captive.

She found the door ajar, and inside, several frightened children and women huddled together. 

Tears of relief and fear mingled as Kusum embraced them.

Months later, Kusum stood outside the mansion, now a sealed crime scene. 

The cult had been dismantled, its leaders behind bars.

Kuhu laughed in her arms, a sound that filled Kusum with hope.

 Though scars remained, so did her strength.

The shadows of that night lingered, but Kusum had reclaimed her life—and her family’s future.

-------------

Kusum’s story is a haunting reminder that evil can lurk behind the most beautiful facades, and strength often rises from the darkest moments. 

In many South Indian villages and towns, the warmth of community and faith can sometimes be a veil, hiding secrets better left uncovered—yet courage and love always find a way to break through.

May Kusum’s journey inspire us to trust our instincts, protect those we love fiercely, and never lose hope, even when shadows surround us.

By,

Shaina....